Royal Unova
by DarkAngelTorchic
Summary: All it took was one night, looking over the vast Unova sea, for Steven Stone to realize that life's little jokes are often the cruelest.


_**Royal Unova**_

_Dear father, you wished for a boy satisfied to riddle with numbers all day, a boy content to be content. Average, everyday, ordinary._

Have you ever seen the ocean? Steven has. From the calm turquoise waves lapping the shore of Mossdeep to the glittering cerulean water of Vermillion and the gray, rigid seas of Canalave. Every ocean is different. Unova is no exception. Even in the daytime, the water in the harbors of Castelia are a deep sapphire, oddly still despite the activity of fisherman and tourist boats. In the nighttime, as Steven is looking at it, it becomes even darker, a mirrored reflection of the sky above. On starry nights, the Royal Unova is flooded with wishful youngsters and smitten lovers, all with twinkles in their eyes, crowding the decks, a general feeling of merriment in the air.

Tonight, there are no stars and few clouds. The vast space above is sulky and unlit, only broken up by the brightness of the cruise ship. Christmas lights wrap around the doorways leading out to the deck, dimly lighting the surrounding areas with reds and greens. Bright fluorescent lights flood above to help the ships find their way amongst the stillness, blackness of the water below.

There aren't so many trainers out on this particular night. Steven thinks that maybe it's a Friday or a Saturday, and they're having fun and relaxing like kids do, maybe the older ones are partying. There's so much to do in a big city like this that the idea of spending a weekend evening on a boat isn't particularly appealing to anyone, not even him, but it's the quietest spot he can find. All that he's seen on the boat so far are aging socialites in their fur coats, somehow managing to look elegant and pathetic all at the same time. He's seen approximately one other male, a gentleman in a wrinkled brown jacket, making his way slowly across the floor with the help of an expensive oak cane with a silver handle.

If he looks back, he can see the skyline, the lights of the city blending together to make a fluorescent outline of buildings. A bridge looms over his head, casting a shadow across the deck. For a moment, just a moment, Steven is engulfed in sheer black.

It's wonderful.

_Dear mother, you longed for a boy who was calm, polite but most of all, quiet. For the most part, that is what you got, but despite your best efforts, you couldn't quell the spirit of curiosity that was bursting from within him. _

A gem lays heavy in his pocket. He twiddles it with his fingers, rubbing his index across the unmarred surface. He can picture it without having to pull it out, the steely gray gem matching his eyes. From what he could tell by his brief exploration of Wellspring Cave, it's heavier than most of the rocks and gems that one can find. He was content to keep the rest in a suitcase in his hotel room, a pile of jewels that would eventually make their way to plastic cases in his home in Mossdeep. This one, though, this would stay with him for awhile, as all of his favorite stones did.

The rail that he's leaning on is the same steely gray, or at least it once was. Salt-water and time had teamed up on it, leaving a bit of rust where bars of steel were fused together. If that made the railing more brittle, Steven didn't care. He was content to rest his forearms on it, leaning forward, gazing into the sea of black, so deep that a reflection was out of the question.

He plays it over and over again in his mind. His father, once so young and sharp, looking every bit of Mr. Bossman in navy suits, was turning gray around the edges. The suits don't fit him so well anymore, his smaller frame causing unintentional pleats and wrinkles in places where there weren't any twenty years ago. His eyes are pale blue icicles preparing to go in for the kill, flashing irately at his fuck-up of a son. Even over a screen, his anger is father's irritation makes him shrink from a thirty-one year old man to a twenty year old champion and then to a ten year old boy, all with a single icy glance. "I'm not asking you, Steven, I'm telling you. Get on the fucking plane."

"No." What else could he say? He had faced his demons long ago. This was the first time she was sober long enough to hear what her own were saying. Guilt was eating her from the inside? Not his problem.

"What's keeping you there? All you do is dig in caves for fucking rocks. It's not like you have a job anymore." Not like he needed one, after playing champion for seven years. He had more than enough money to last him the rest of his life. "It's your mother, boy. Get home."

"I'm not a boy," the usual levelheaded man had snapped. "I'm an adult. I said my goodbyes years ago. I'm not coming."

_Click._

Horrible son failed once again. Big Bossman slips on his house shoes, stomps out to the patio and lights up a cigar. Little wife sits in her bedroom, hooked up to the best machines money can buy, but they can't tell her to put down the bottle. Her liver is failing her, but Steven has failed her more, so she needs the vodka to tell her what to do. Steven could picture it all as if he were sitting in one of their plush armchairs watching the scene like a movie.

Is he being dramatic? Absolutely. While his father is undoubtedly finding solace in the ashes of a fine cigar, his mother more than likely isn't drinking herself into a stupor because of Steven. She was probably already crashed out to the beat of her machines. She probably didn't know that her husband had even asked her son to come home. She had learned not to mention Steven unless he did. It only made him angry. You wouldn't like him when he is angry.

Steven thinks of the conversation again, but only words, no pictures. He doesn't want to think of how old or small his father looks and definitely doesn't want to try to picture his mother hooked up to all those machines.

_What's keeping you there?_

In truth, nothing was. He didn't have to stay, and he wouldn't. After he had done a runthrough of the Unova cave system, he would leave once again, though to where, he didn't know. Maybe back to the Silver Cave of Johto, or the giant mountain range of Sinnoh, or Mount Moon of Kanto. Steven was destined to wander from region to region, searching for the finest treasures, seeking some sort of truth.

But truth be told, each of the caves were being to look one in the same. Wellspring Cave had looked like Union Cave, like Dark Cave, like Dewford Cave, like Rock Tunnel. It had offered him gems, offered him smooth stones unlike the jagged rocks found in many caves he had been to. But in the end, were the stones worth the trouble he had gone to find them? What exactly _was_ he looking for? If it was really truth, none of those rocks had spoken it. If it was insight, he was seeing no more clearly than he had when he had boarded the small plane to Unova's Pokemon League.

_What exactly was he doing?_

A quick trip to Hoenn. A visit with the current Elite Four- or three, actually. There had been a void in the line-up since Drake had passed away the month previous. They had wanted Steven to fill it, but he couldn't imagine living that sort of life again.

Flannery had moved up to fill Sidney's spot a year previous- inevitable, Steven thought, after mentally penciling in a place in the line-up for Flannery years before. Phoebe had stayed, but had matured from a smirky young woman to a jaded workaholic, married to the League just as Steven had been. Sidney had moved up to Glacia's old spot after the woman had gotten married and moved to Sinnoh. And Wallace had left years ago, his spot (and Steven's) filled by a cocky trainer named Brendan, the son of Professor Birch. The wide-eyed boy who had once admired Steven was now a man, a talented trainer.

And as they sat there chatting, the door opened and a hesitant young woman entered and they all greeted her with casual hellos and grins- except Steven. He knew who she was- the sapphire eyes gave it away. She smiled at him, asked him how he was, hesistant, as if she had millions of questions for him that she couldn't ask, and for all he knew, maybe she did. She went in for the hug. He saw the ring on her finger.

The two had been beginning trainers when he had met them years ago, eleven years old with a sparkling curiosity for the world. Now here they were, ten years later. She was the most successful coordinator in Hoenn, possibly in all of the world, and he sat upon the Champion's throne.

And where was Steven? He was still collecting rocks.

_In the end, nothing changes. Everything changes._

And now he's finally getting it, as he stares at the still water in front of him, gripping the steely gray gem in his pocket for dear life. He understands the disappointment in his father's icy eyes, he understands the hesitation of the girl. His life is a joke. He is the punchline.

_Steven Stone looks for stones! Get it?_

He doesn't. Not anymore.


End file.
